Page 19 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
He felt it would be an adequate change of scenery from the Whites’, and he never did get to speak to Arlington after their brief meeting at the ball.
The two men strolled through his meticulously manicured garden, mallets in hand as they engaged in a leisurely game of Pall Mall. Richard, ever the strategist, used the game as a backdrop for his inquiries.
Arlington knew this was coming and picked up the ball, offering it back to Richard. “It’s a passing interest, Your Grace. You know this. It’s nothing more.” He could sense that Arlington was reluctant to divulge his true connections or sources.
I wonder if his dealings are of a more covert nature and perhaps that is why he is so guarded with me?
Richard began calculating his next move when the tranquility of the afternoon was squashed by a whooping thunder of hooves.
The sound echoed through the garden as Lydia burst into view. She was astride a magnificent chestnut mare. He gaped at the strength of her small figure atop the horse, displaying the whirlwind of energy he remembered her for.
Her governess and a frantic stable boy trailed in her wake, their cries lost in the chaos.
Richard snapped into motion with lightning speed, stepping into the path of the horse. He raised his voice, sharp and commanding, as he put up his hands.
“Lydia! Whoa!” The mare slowed to a halt in front of him.
Richard reached up, his strong hands encircling Lydia’s waist, and lifted her gently from the saddle.
“What in heaven’s name were you thinking?” he scolded sharply. “That was incredibly dangerous. And foolish!”
Lydia hung her head, but her eyes still sparkled with excitement. Arlington, in contrast, was thoroughly charmed by the spectacle. He approached her slowly, a smile playing on his lips.
“Well, Your Grace,” he chuckled, looking back at him. “It’s refreshing to see you care so deeply for the little one. A man of family is a pleasure to see.”
Lydia, her brief reprimand forgotten, tugged at Richard’s sleeve as she pointed to the mare.
She already wants to get back on the damn thing.
Arlington’s eyes twinkled. “You like horses, young lady?” Lydia nodded eagerly, her radiant face brimming with joy. “Then perhaps you’d both care to join me at the races in a few days? It’s quite an event. I suspect this young lady would enjoy it immensely. So many horses, my dear.”
Lydia jumped up and down excitedly. Her small hands tugged urgently on Richard’s arm as she smiled up at him with her sparkling blue eyes.
While Richard initially hesitated, apprehensive about exposing Lydia to the bustling atmosphere of a race at her age, her excitement was infectious. He also saw the opportunity that prodded at him.
Accepting Arlington’s invitation might just be the key to unlocking the man’s trust, to finally getting him to loosen his tongue.
“Very well,” he said as a hint of a smile touched his lips. “We would be delighted to attend, Lord Arlington.”
That same day, Catriona, her mother, and Lady Marchant found themselves at a soiree at the grand Northley estate.
The guests mingled in the opulent parlor, the air thick with the usual polite conversation and covert agendas. Some were playing cards, others savoring the delectable offerings. Catriona surveyed the room as her gaze landed on the group of ladies who had gossiped about her at the ball.
For all the talk of London bein’ a big city, why am I plagued with running into the same people day after day?
Lady Abigail, her mouse-like face pinched with malice, approached with her entourage. Catriona faced them with a grace she didn’t entirely feel.
“Ladies,” Lady Abigail said, her voice cool and steady—like the coward she knew she would be, she scoffed at her as they walked toward the dining room.
She took pride that they were clearly unwilling to engage in a battle of wits.
She would be destined to lose anyway.
“Gum bi companaidh math agad a-riamh,” Catriona cursed under her breath.
It was an old Gaelic hex, disguised as a blessing.
May you always have good company.
